


Team Dynamics

by NinthFeather



Category: Gundam 00, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Because That and Oneshots Are All I Write, But If You Do Know The Canon, Coulson Lives (but no one knows about it yet), Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Domestic Avengers, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Humor, Knowledge of Gundam 00 Canon Not Required, Past Character Death, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, This Replaces A Wakening of The Trailblazer, past trauma, weird crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthFeather/pseuds/NinthFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint complains that, even if they're trying to treat these people well since they haven't done anything wrong, they should still at least get to make choices about what they do in the Tower.  Tony tells him he needs to stop being a baby and accept that the rule that “the one with the worst injuries picks the movie” applies to guests under surveillance as well.</p><p> </p><p>These five weirdos who say they're from some group called Celestial Being and the year 2314--and, by Tony's guess, might also be from another dimension? They're just as messed up as the Avengers. So putting them all in the same Tower together is obviously a good idea. Nothing could go wrong. </p><p>Post Avengers, pre-CA:TWS.  You don't need to know Gundam 00 to read this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This fic is a crossover between the Marvel Cinematic Universe, focusing on the Avengers and Gundam 00, though, since it's entirely from the perspective of Avengers team members, you don't necessarily need to know Gundam 00 to read it-I wrote the Gundam cast as though they were OCs I didn't expect the reader to know, and while there are definitely in-jokes and references for the Gundam fans, nothing important requires canon knowledge that isn't eventually given in the fic. If you're managing to come in from the other direction...you probably should have watched The Avengers, but you don't need any of the other Marvel movies. It's a little AU for both sides anyway, so, don't worry over this sort of thing too much. For example, the Gundam characters have discernible accents instead of all sounding either Japanese or Canadian. Hey, I have to give the spies something to deduce with, right?

It's about three months after the Battle of New York and Tony Stark is really not enjoying the sequel.

The good news is that the Chitauri are really freakin' stupid without Reindeer Games—or whoever else was giving him the orders last time, because Clint's pretty sure that Loki was working for someone and since he's good enough at what he does for "Ms. Rushman" to like him, he's probably right about that. Also, there aren't that many of them, probably because of the whole nuclear bomb thing. The bad news is that they're really mad, probably for the same reason, and to make things better, Thor's still in Asgard, so the Avengers are down a man.

So there are, like, fifteen Chitauri buzzing around the city, and at least they aren't getting near the civilians because as soon as they saw the alien flying motorcycles they were proceding—okay, more stampeding—to the shelters as fast as they could. But cities are still crappy places for fights—too much that's breakable, and too many things that obstruct your vision.

At least the team's got Clint on top of the Tower, calling out positions so the rest of them don't have to worry about being ambushed.

"Okay, Tony, you've got another incoming down Fifth Avenue…hey, wait, what is that?" Clint trails off, sounding baffled.

Tony decides to look at the thing. It's, y'know, Chitauri-shaped for the most part except that it looks like there's something stuck to its back…if Tony didn't know better, he'd think…

"How did a  _civilian_  get on that thing?" Clint breathes, because Tony apparently doesn't know better, and that thing on the Chitauri's back is a brown-haired man wearing a half-destroyed varsity jacket and ripped-up khakis.

Well, crap, he can't just blow it up if there's a person on there, but he's not really sure how else to deal with it…

Fortunately, Civilian at least seems calm under fire.

_"Ne, otoko-no-hito-san, boku wo testudatte kudasai?"_

Japanese, okay, Tony can work with Japanese. Learned it five years ago after he found this awesome robotics paper on Tokyo University's site. But, really, is "Hey, Mister, please lend me a hand" the thing to be saying when you're riding on an alien hovercraft, with said alien and without weapons?

So, the guy's crazy, but it's at least Tony's kind of crazy. And if he's Tony's kind of crazy…

He takes a risk, rushes the thing, and is rewarded when JARVIS reports an additional 150-pound-weight on the suit. He can't see anything, of course, but Steve's yelling over the com and that probably means he did something risky enough to make Spangles worry but brave enough that he's still kinda proud. Saving Civilian probably counts, so, mission accomplished.

"Tony, what are you doing—wait, is there someone  _riding_ the suit? Get back here! He needs medical attention!"

"We've got this under control," Natasha adds.

"Right-o," Tony says, turning in midair, a little more carefully than he would if no one was riding the suit. He tells JARVIS to activate external speakers and adds,  _"Anzen na basho ni itteimasu,_ , we're going to a safe place."

Apparently, this is not what Civilian wants. He's shouting in Japanese and it's testing the limits of Tony's spoken comprehension.

“ _Iie! Maganaide! Watashi no nakama wo taskukeranakya ikenai kara, tobira ni ikenakya ikenai!"_

"No! Don't turn!" Tony mentally translates, ignoring the kid until he continues, "We have to rescue my friends, and so…"

And then Tony stops translating because that word can mean "door," it can mean "gate," and it can mean "portal."

And Tony knows how the Chitauri travel, knows it better than he ever wants to, especially the desperate empty blackness of the space on the other side…

He only realizes that he never turned off the external speakers when he hears his own panicked hyperventilation in stereo, mixed in with JARVIS's worried questioning and Civilian's careful, soft reassurances.

"You're okay, you're fine, please just breathe," he says, and his accent is thick but still comprehensible.

So he's used to people having panic attacks in the middle of a battle. Huh.

Then, Steve, joining the noise, says, "Tony, come back, we'll handle it, okay?"

Right. Back. Away from portals. That, Tony can handle.

" _Anzen na basho ni itteimasu,_ " he repeats.

Without waiting for Civilian to reply, he heads back to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s emergency base of operations.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Clint is not psyched about being tapped for the "go through the portal and rescue potential friendlies" team, but it's better than staying here and jumping at shadows, expecting each one to be a hiding place for Loki and what Tony has dubbed "the mind-control stick." The invasion brings back memories he doesn't want any more. Chitauri-land may be relatively uncharted and probably oxygen-less, but at least it's not as much of a gigantic PTSD trigger as New York is right now.

Besides, this time, S.H.I.E.L.D. is ready, and Clint gets a space suit. So do Nat and Cap, Clint's companions on this little sojourn into the heart of weirdness. Besides, arrows work just as well without air or gravity as with—maybe even a little better without. Times like this, Clint is glad he passed up sniper rifles for crossbows.

The portal's in Central Park—of course it is, these things are always at Stark Tower, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, or Central Park, like the aliens and monsters coming out of them are here for tourism instead of attack—and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel have already secured it. They already know how to close it, too. All he, Nat and Cap have to do is sneak through, grab the friendlies, and go.

Suited up and feeling puffier than the Michelin Man, he follows Nat through the freaky circle of glowy blue juju, trying not to let that particular shade of Mind-Control-Flashback-Trigger-Blue get to him. He doesn't think it's working.

Cap notices, and smacks him in the back of the head. It's not the most modern or scientific way of dealing with the problem, but it works, and that's Cap all over for you, right there.

The other side of the portal isn't empty space, like S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it would be, but there isn't any oxygen outside their suits, so Clint's still grateful overall. They're in a featureless steel corridor, the walls studded with protrusions that have to be dents when you look at them from the outside. This place isn't Chitauri, it's stolen. From who, Clint wonders.

Cap pulls him from his thoughts by motioning him forward down the corridor. It looks like his super-senses are picking up something useful—hopefully, chatter from still-alive friendlies and not something unpleasant, like bombs being built or weapons being handed out.

The tight, focused expression on Cap's face doesn't offer any clues, but Clint follows regardless. You didn't question Cap in the field unless it was a big deal. You had a moral question, he'd hear you out; if you wanted to know what the next part of the plan was, you shut up and waited for him to tell you in his own time.

They finally reach a small room with a metallic smell about it, and it's pretty clear where that's coming from when Clint sees the room's occupants. Because, the beat-up kid Tony started calling Civilian? He apparently got handled with kid gloves compared to his friends.

There are four of them there, all male and in their twenties, all dressed in very badly ripped uniforms that might have been military—if not from any country Clint knows of—and all covered in injuries. There could have been some torture, too, but most of the bad stuff looks more like they got it resisting capture. Either way, they're all fitted with some sort of breathing apparatus—which at least means the Chitauri wanted them alive. Whether that's a good thing or not is kind of up in the air, in Clint's opinion. There are restraints along the walls, stained with blood, but also open and unoccupied. These guys aren't exactly helpless, then.

The tallest of them, a man with long brown hair and green eyes, stands when he sees them.

"Hello, we come in peace," Cap tries.

"What's with all the weapons, then?" is the reply, and Clint's not sure whether he's more surprised that the man speaks Irish-accented English, or impressed that he's actually able to stand up with those injuries.

"We don't wish you harm," Nat explains. "The Chitauri, on the other hand…" she trails off suggestively. Well, more suggestively than usual, because half of what comes out of her mouth sounds kind of suggestive and Clint's pretty sure it's intentional.

"Is that what the reptilian freaks are called?" the man asks. "Good to know. You got medical supplies?"

"Not with us, no," Cap says. "But we can take you to a place with doctors."

"Why should we trust you?" asks another of the men, shorter than his companion and sporting a truly impressive dye job. It looks like he dipped his hair in grape Kool-Aid. His eyes are obscured by badly cracked glasses.

Cap, despite being a freakin' global icon who should probably be at least a little thrown off by a question like that, answers calmly.

"We have weapons, but we aren't threatening you with them," he says.

"Which makes us a whole lot nicer than the Chitauri," Clint adds.

"Fair enough," the brown-haired man says. "Seiei, can you stand?"

"Yes," the shortest of the four answers, his voice clearly accented. It sounds to Clint like it might be Middle Eastern, but Nat's always been better at accents than he is. His skin is clay-brown and his hair is black, but his most noticeable feature is the gigantic bloodstain spread over his left pants leg. "Haptism is still out."

Cap glances towards the last of the four, a skinny man dressed in black, whose skin tone is at the unpleasant juncture between a deep tan and the sickly yellow of someone near the point of bleeding out. Add to that hair the unpleasant deep green-brown of that hamburger Tony and Bruce gamma-radiated last week when they were bored, and a wide range of multicolored bruises, and Clint is willing to bet that Cap is itching for a set of colored pencils. It's kind of amazing how much artistic inspiration the man gets from beating people up for a living, but Clint's never been one to judge other people's hobbies, not when his are sitting on high places and watching stupid comedies.

Fortunately for "Haptism," Cap's American Hero side is clearly overwhelming the artist side at the moment. He walks over, picks the man up without much effort, and heads back up the corridor, gesturing to the others to follow him.

The other three are a bit wide-eyed over what is, for Cap, a relatively modest show of strength, but they follow nonetheless. "Seiei" is still limping, and Clint hangs back to offer him a shoulder to lean on. He shakes his head, takes another step, winces, and then slings his arm over Clint's shoulders as he inclines his head in a quick show of thanks.

They make it to the portal like that, Clint and Seiei the last to stumble through, blinking rapidly, into a Central Park filled with mid-day light.

Seiei looks around for a few seconds, seemingly overwhelmed, before Clint feels him lean even more heavily than before and looks over to see his eyes falling shut.

Time to head to medical, then.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bruce is in S.H.I.E.L.D's hastily-erected infirmary, in the midst of bandaging "Civilian," when Steve, Clint and Natasha bring the others in.

There are two walking on their own, a third being carried by Clint and a fourth slung over Steve's shoulder. All are pretty badly injured, but a lot of it's superficial, though the one Clint's got has a pretty bad leg wound and Bruce doesn't like the coloring on the one slung over Steve's shoulder.

Tony, who is sitting in one of the chairs and trying to get ahold of himself—ignoring Bruce's suggestion that he get away from the medical supplies that they both know are among his triggers—eyes them with some interest, but Civilian's reaction is enough to distract him from the newcomers.

"You're okay," he breathes, his voice as strained as Cap's is any time he ends up at the bedside of an injured teammate after a fight goes wrong.

"Good to see you too, kid," says one of the new arrivals, a tall, brown-haired man with a light Irish accent. The man's eyes light on Bruce.

"You're a doctor, right?" he asks.

Bruce nods.

The man jerks a thumb towards the one being carried by Steve. "He needs help, now. He wasn't built to take this kind of punishment."

The word choice is odd—presumably, being a naturally-created human being, he wasn't built for anything in particular—but Bruce listens to the request anyway, directing Steve to lay the man on a bed and grabbing a kit full of equipment from his desk before beginning to examine him.

He is in his mid-twenties and in decent health save the injuries that should have been enough to kill him. Bruce quickly disinfects and bandages the multiple stab wounds on his torso, as well as a particularly deep cut on his left shoulder. As he works, he takes note of old scars, some clearly the result of some sort of military service, but others looking like very old surgical scars. His right arm is dislocated, which Bruce quickly fixes, noting that he should find a sling somewhere before the man wakes. There are also an impressive number of bruises on the man's body, but none of them seem to be signs of internal injuries severe enough to require immediate attention—though the one on his left hip may need to be monitored.

Bruce then moves on to a few smaller injuries on the man's arms, only to suddenly find the tip of the small pair of scissors from the medical kit resting on the skin covering his Adam's apple.

The tent immediately falls silent, its occupants freezing simultaneously. Bruce tries not to let the flare of annoyance at the fact that this man's actions could have easily killed everyone in the tent become the reason that everyone in the tent actually does die in a Hulk rampage. Across from him, the man's eyes—one yellow and the other brown, he notes, surprised to see such a rare genetic trait—are narrowed in anger.

"Okay, just calm down," Cap says, his voice deliberately soft and just a bit sing-song.

Bruce sees green hovering around the edges of his vision.

"Allelujah _, daijoubuda,_ " says the brown-haired man. Hearing a word of praise in these circumstances is not helping Bruce's control. " _Alle to hanashite mo ii da?_ "

Hesitantly, the man backs up, still clutching the scissors. _"Hakase wo kuroshitai,_ " he says, his tone almost plaintive, but with an insane edge to it that dispels rage in favor of primal fear. Bruce is pretty sure that there was some sort of threat in that sentence, though he doesn't know enough Japanese to puzzle it out.

The Other Guy is no longer interested in coming out. In fact, he is currently filling Bruce's head with images of him, and Bruce himself, running. Bruce isn't much of an expert on animal behavior, but he thinks this is the same instinct that keeps uninfected animals away from rabid ones.

To his surprise, it's Tony who speaks next. " _Kuroshite ha ikenaiyo. Ore no hakase._ "

Bruce is still not fluent in Japanese, but that sounds a lot like the "My Hulk, you can't have him," tone he used to tell off General Ross last week.

The man makes a sound of dissatisfaction, then suddenly slumps forward, scissors still open in his hand. Bruce catches him, careful to avoid the blades.

The man blinks up at him, bleary-eyed, the threatening aura he'd had only seconds ago entirely vanished.

"Ian?" he asks, voice slightly slurred.

"Allelujah!" Tony's "Civilian" says, and Bruce is really starting to wonder about all of this religious praise, when the man's head turns towards "Civilian." Almost like Allelujah is a name.

"Saji?" the man asks, eyes lighting up. " _Doko wa koko?_ "

"We are in an infirmary," Civilian, whose real name is apparently Saji, answers, in understandable but accented English. "Away from the ones who captured us."

"Thank God," the man says, his words clearer than Saji's. More religion. Maybe they're some kind of cult?

"And these people," Saji adds. "They rescued us."

"Thank you," the man says.

"Giving me the scissors would be thanks enough," Bruce says carefully.

The man's eyes widen, confused, then lose focus for a second. When they clear, he looks mortified. "I am so sorry!" he exclaims, frantic, thrusting the scissors handles-first into Bruce's hands. "You were probably the one who took care of me and I—"

"Calm down, Haptism," the violet-haired man says. His accent is a slightly higher-class version of that of an American newscaster—faintly Midwestern, easily understood and probably deliberately acquired. "I'm sure this isn't the first time that Dr.—erm, what is your name?"

"Banner," Bruce says, suspicious.

"Dr. Banner has had to deal with a difficult patient," the man finishes. "My name is Erde. He is Haptism. The one your friend is carrying is Seiei, and the tall one over there is Stratos."

Unimpressed, Tony asks, "Are those code names?"

"Of course," Erde says, unbothered.

Stratos shrugs. "You're not getting our real names, so they'll have to do."

"Except Saji," Erde huffs.

” _Gomen,_ ” Saji says automatically. Remembering himself, he translates, "Sorry." 

Preoccupied, Bruce only vaguely pays attention as Natasha tells the visitors their aliases, only to be interrupted by snickering from Saji and Stratos, followed by Tony speaking over her in order to give their real names.

None of the rescued prisoners seem particularly interested in, much less alarmed by, Haptism's personality shift now that it has passed, which indicates that this has happened before. But, why would they be willing to work on the same team as such a person?

Then again, why would anyone be willing to work with the man who turns into the Hulk? Perhaps this man's psychopathic side is also a useful weapon.

"None of you seemed too freaked out by the fact that I threatened you with a pair of scissors a few minutes ago," Haptism observes, straightening. Apparently, he's been thinking along some of the same lines.

Bruce takes a risk. "Well, that wasn't precisely  _you_ , was it?"

Haptism's eyes fall to the bed as he sits down on its edge. "No," he answers at length. "And I think maybe I wasn't dealing with just you the whole time, either. Your eyes were green a little while ago."

Bruce stiffens. He's underestimated Haptism. "I was in control, the whole time," he says, and lets Haptism finish the thought.

"But you're not the only one in there," Haptism says.

Bruce nods.

"You seem a little old to be a failed super-soldier," Haptism observes, and Bruce stiffens again because there's no possible way this man could know about the attempt to replicate Erskine's formula that created the Other Guy. The people that knew enough about the research into the serum are all known to Bruce, and none of them are Haptism.

"Or maybe not," Haptism says, sounding just as surprised. "I didn't think the Institute was that old."

"Institute?" Tony asks. "You mean Xavier's pet project? Bruce isn't a mutant."

"I was not implying that he was, and I have no idea who Xavier is," Haptism says. "I'm talking about the Super Soldier Institute in the HRL."

"HRL?" Bruce repeats.

"You've never heard of it?" Stratos asks, alarmed. He's standing over Seiei, who Steve has laid down on a bed.

Bruce and the other Avengers shake their heads. Their visitors seem discomforted by this information.

"Where exactly are we?" Saji asks.

"New York, New York," Natasha says. "The United States of America."

"Not the Union, the United States?" Saji asks, as if trying to clarify.

"What's a Union?" is Clint's question.

"What year is it?" Erde counters, and Bruce is pretty sure there's an undercurrent of panic in his tone.

"It's 2014," Steve says proudly. Bruce is a bit proud, too—just last week, he would have answered 2004 with equal confidence.

"Wha—" Stratos breathes.

"No way!" Saji adds, in undisguised astonishment.

"When were you expecting it to be?" Steve asks, and Bruce is pretty sure the super-soldier has come to the same conclusion he has.

"It should be 2314," says Erde, sounding very overwhelmed.

"Time travel?" Clint asks. "You gotta be kidding."

"They could just be from a different dimension, where time is farther along than it is here," Tony says. "Hopefully, that's what's going on."

"Hopefully?" Steve asks sharply.

"Because otherwise, the Chitauri are capable of time travel," Tony replies, his tone equally sharp.

That sobering thought ends the conversation quickly, and Bruce takes advantage of the lull to go looking for a sling for Haptism.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Surprisingly little graphic violence, given the canons, but Tony's PTSD, and that of other characters, is going to come up a lot (and while I've done research, I'm not an expert, so fair warning). One of the Gundam 00 characters has another personality which is kind of psychotic, and that's a warning too. A lot of general discussion of past war-crime-type-atrocities, both committed against, and, in one case, by, characters-message me if you are extremely concerned but remember that this thing is rated T before you panic. These warnings are for the entire fic and not all of them show up in the first chapter. I will add extra warnings if I feel they are needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one line of Japanese; you can either hover over it with your mouse for a translation, or check the end note.
> 
> See end notes for warnings.

It should probably bother Tony that what he just said doesn't bother him. But, honestly? If the Chitauri could time travel, this conversation wouldn't be happening because they would have gone back far enough to make sure that their enemies were never born.

Besides, this is concrete stuff. It's not the really reassuring solidity of welding and power tools, but theoretical physics at least has equations to anchor him away from unwanted memories.

But for everyone else, it's apparently a little too frightening in its implications. Which means distraction time—except he has to do this carefully, because Bruce and Haptism's mutual near-incident left everyone a bit on edge.

"Civillian!" he calls to Saji. "Did Bruce fix you up all right?"

Saji startles. "Me?" he asks, as Stratos sniggers.

"New nickname?" Haptism asks, looking rather amused.

"Guess so," Saji replies, and, unexpectedly, smiles, as if the designation pleases him.

"I was expecting—" Tony starts.

"You won't offend him by calling him a civilian," Erde interrupts, also smiling. "He's rather proud of being one, actually."

Oh, there's a story there. "Really?" Tony asks.

Saji shrugs. "I never really wanted to be a soldier. It just…sorta worked out that I had to fight."

"Had to?" Steve ventures.

Saji blushes. "There's a girl—"

Well, that settles it—Civilian is adorable, and Tony is asking Fury whether he can keep the kid for the time being.

"I think we can guess the rest of this one," Clint interrupts.

"Even the part when she shot at me?" Saji challenges, and Tony's pretty sure Clint isn't hearing the edges of a raw wound peeking out from under the light tone he's using.

Clint throws up his hands. "Guess I'm not as good at guessing endings as I thought."

Saji shrugs. "I just hope I can get back to her."

"I'm sure we'll be able to," Erde says reassuringly. "Such technology probably doesn't exist here, but I'm certain that I can figure out how to construct it…."

"I'm helping," Tony says immediately. "If someone is building a dimension hopping machine, I am helping, and Dr. Foster is helping, because it's her specialty and I just love cool stuff."

"She specializes in inter-dimensional transport?" Erde echoes.

"Well, in Einstein-Rosen Bridges," Tony says. "Which are more like wormholes, but they're essentially distortions in space-time and I bet we could use the base equations in designing whatever we're using to get you back."

"Excellent," Erde says. "I would be very grateful for your assistance."

His attention turns from the conversation when Seiei stirs, and makes a soft noise. Stratos is already motioning Bruce to step back, and because Tony isn't Science Bros with an idiot, Bruce is doing so.

Erde rushes over to him, helping him to sit up.

"Ti—" he starts blearily, and Erde quickly cuts him off.

"Seiei, do you know where we are?" Erde asks.

"Infirmary…somewhere?" Seiei half-asks, and Erde nods.

"We believe that we are in a different dimension," Erde starts. Seiei stares at him, and Erde sighs.

"What do you know about theoretical physics?" he asks.

"Dunno about theoretical, but Saji and Louise had a class in physics together," Seiei responds promptly, rubbing heavy-lidded eyes. "It sounded difficult. Nothing else."

Tony raises an eyebrow. Only a kick to the shin from Cap keeps him from demanding an explanation. Man, what are high schools like in their dimension?

"I will explain more later," Erde says at length, rubbing his temples.

Tony opens his mouth, ignores another kick from The Star-Spangled Man with A Plan, and asks, "Do you know how to use a tablet?"

Seiei nods, wary.

Tony walks to the other side of the infirmary, rummages through a bag of spare clothes and supplies that Pepper must have brought down at some point—has he mentioned recently how much he loves that woman?—and digs out the first aid kit. Opening it, he gets out a StarkPad.

"You keep a tablet in the first aid kit?" Clint asks, sounding baffled.

"Thought it would be useful in case someone without medical training needed to look something up," Tony explains.

He turns to Seiei. "If you don't get anything, you can ask JARVIS."

The man's brow furrows.

"My AI," Tony elaborates.

Erde's eyes focus on him. His interest is plain. "You have an AI?" he asks.

"Does that surprise you?" Steve asks. "Being from 2314, I'd think—"

For all Cap's insistence on tact, he seems to have forgotten that Seiei doesn't know about the time discrepancy. Fortunately, the man is intensely focused on the tablet, lips working soundlessly as he reads.

Still, Tony sees the opportunity for payback, and kicks Cap in the shin. Unfortunately, it somehow slipped his mind that Cap is really, really built and now his foot probably hurts more than his teammate's ankle does. It still shuts Steve up, though.

Erde doesn't really answer. "I'd like to meet him," he says.

That puts him in Tony's good books automatically, because even other scientists take a while to stop calling JARVIS "it," but Erde gets it right away. He grins.

"Sure," Tony says. "You can have the tablet after your friend's done."

Tiera's smile is small and thin, but distinctly grateful.

"So, um, what's the chain of command like around here?" Stratos asks awkwardly. "Do you report to the Union—erm, United States government?"

Tony glances at Cap, who usually knows these things. Unfortunately, Cap is looking back at him with that "You know more about this decade then I do; please explain this to me," look on his face. They both try Bruce, who shrugs, then finally, cautiously, look to Natasha.

She shrugs, tossing a bit of hair over her shoulder in what Tony now recognizes as a calculated attempt to appear normal. "We report to S.H.I.E.L.D., which is technically part of the U.S. government, but also receives private funding and is allowed to act autonomously in most situations. Unless the situation changes, decisions regarding your presence here will be made by the director, the assistant director, or a lower-ranking agent assigned the task of dealing with you."

"So, you all work for this organization?" Haptism asked. "What does it do?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. takes care of the weird stuff," Clint offers. "Like, say, invading aliens or inter-dimensional relations. We're basically their large-scale emergency response team."

"Just the five of you?" Stratos asks.

"Not everyone is currently present," Nat says, neglecting to add that "everyone" consists of them and Thor, who, while an alien powerful enough to be mistaken by ancient humans for a god, is only, in fact, one person.

"Interesting," Erde says. "So, can we talk to you about what will happen now? Obviously, it will take time to return us to our own dimension, but if you have an organization to deal with occurrences like this, I imagine there must be protocol…"

"Unfortunately, you rendered it obsolete by not being hostile," says Fury's voice. Tony looks up, and there's the man himself, looking as deserving of his name as ever.

Judging by that statement, he either doesn't know about Haptism's little episode earlier, or is ignoring it as part of some convoluted plan that Tony doesn't yet have enough data to figure out.

"I assure you, that was not our intention," Erde replies curtly, standing and turning to face the S.H.I.E.L.D. director.

"I'm just as happy not to have to tranq you and put you in holding cells," Fury says. He looks ready to say something else, but Stratos interrupts him with a bark of laughter.

After a few seconds under an irritated glare from Erde, he explains, "I just like  _his_  plan. Why wasn't ours more like that?"

"Because the rest of us aren't as trigger-happy as you?" Haptism suggests, a slight edge to his teasing.

"Maybe some of us wanted to believe in Schenberg's vision of the future," Seiei says, without looking up from the tablet.

Stratos huffs. "If he was such a genius, why did he prepare us for dialogues, when it turned out that our first extra-terrestrial visitors either couldn't or wouldn't communicate with us at all?"

"He made  _one_  mistake," Erde snaps. "His plan was—"

"We all know you aren't objective about his plan!" Stratos interrupts.

"And we all know that your first loyalty was always to Katharon," Saji says cooly, regarding Stratos with a steady gaze. "Anyhow, is this really the time?"

Stratos glances around, apparently noticing his audience for the first time.

All Tony can thinks is  _Wow, they're as dysfunctional as us…_

"So, there was some guy named Schenberg who had a plan to…talk with aliens?" Tony tries to summarize.

"Surprisingly accurate," Erde says. "The plan was more to ready humanity for an encounter with an extraterrestrial species. He wanted to put them in a position to conduct diplomacy."

"But the Chitauri showed up with their shoot-first-ask-questions-never policy," Tony says, wincing. "That sucks. How'd he take it?"

"I don't know," Erde replies. "I suppose the answer depends on whether you believe that an afterlife of some sort exists."

"He's dead," Saji clarifies. "Has been, for a while."

"So he just wrote the protocol?" Bruce asks.

Saji glances at Haptism, who shrugs. Tony isn't sure what that answer means.

"Well, whatever caused it, you people are my problem at the moment," Fury says, bringing the discussion back to its previous topic. "You planning to tell me who you are?"

Erde repeats the introductions. Fury looks dissatisfied.

"Code names mean you work for someone," Fury said. "Who?"

"The people we work for most likely don't exist here," Erde replies curtly. "We are either from your future or another timeline altogether."

Fury looks unimpressed. "Well, then, what do you do?"

"We're a peacekeeping force," Erde says very firmly, as if expecting argument.

Stratos chuckles.

"Do you disagree?" Erde asks sharply.

Stratos just shakes his head.

Fury raises an eyebrow.

"…we may have used somewhat less-than-peaceful means in our peacekeeping efforts," Erde allows. "But the end goal was, and continues to be, peace."

"And dialogues with aliens," Stratos points out.

"Actually, I've completely lost interest in that part of our organizational goals," Haptism says, his tone sounding almost casual. "How about you, Saji?"

Saji nods.

"So it's just peacekeeping now," Allelujah says, smiling.

This time, Erde snickers.

Fury looks at them, then back at the Avengers, then, up at the sky, as if asking the heavens why he had to deal with so many morons.

Tony is pretty sure it's some sort of punishment for trying to weaponize alien technology, but he isn't quite reckless enough to say that to Fury's face.

Fury stares at the recently-freed prisoners for a long moment.

"You understand why we can't just let you out into the general population?" he asks.

Stratos nods. "You know nothing about us and have no guarantee that we aren't a threat but our actions up to this point. I get it."

Erde glances quickly at Haptism, who has gone very still. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we'd prefer not to be…shall we say, contained, anywhere more cell-like than absolutely necessary."

Tony's never been good at empathy, but he recognizes Haptism's suppressed panic from looking in the mirror on his bad days, which is enough reason for him to decide to step in.

"Our Tower is one of the most secure places on the map," he offers. "Lots of guest rooms, top-of-the-line security systems monitoring every square inch of the place…seems like it might be what you're looking for."

The look Fury gives him screams,  _But it's where you live, idiot, you and your team, some of whom actually_ listened  _to me before I let you near them._

As it's a look, not an actual scream, Tony has no trouble ignoring it.

More politely, Steve ventures, "Wouldn't it be easier to do things this way?"

Fury scowls, and Tony knows what Steve has reminded him of—S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have facilities for holding friendlies, and their capability for constructing such facilities isn't yet up to where it was pre-Battle of New York.

"You gonna be okay staying with this guy?" Fury asks, jerking a thumb toward Tony.

Setsuna's response is downright icy and accompanied by a glare. "He saved Saji's life. What do you think?"

He passes the tablet to Erde, who nods curtly. Stratos shrugs, while Haptism and Saji give him what can only be described as hopeful looks.

"It's settled, then," Tony declares. "Sleepover at my place!"

Natasha groans, as Tony's ears pick up the soft, gratifying sound of Captain America's palm connecting with his face.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Clint is, on the whole, pretty sure there's a protocol somewhere about treatment of detainees, and while he's fairly certain that "letting them sleep on the couch and use the big screen TV" is not prohibited by it, he's more certain that it, at some point, does at least give the guards the right to make choices about the detainees' stay.

When he voices this concern, Tony tells him he needs to stop being a baby and accept that the rule that "the one with the worst injuries picks the movie" applies to guests under surveillance as well.

"That's an actual rule?" Saji asks, looking intrigued.

"If we hadn't come up with some way of picking it that didn't involve battles, Tony would have been forced to make us pay rent just so he could pay for all the damages," Cap explains, his voice low but strained in that way that suggests this still drives him crazy, but he's been forced to accept it and move on.

Nobody mentions the first movie night that wasn't after a battle, during which Tony insisted choice reverted to him as a result of the shrapnel permanently lodged in his heart. Given that Clint had been busy being Loki's minion during the reading-each-other's-files stage of team-building, while Steve, who  _had_  read Tony's file, had only been given a redacted version that mentioned "an injury" but gave no other details, things quickly became awkward. Even Nat and Bruce, who knew about the shrapnel, hadn't really considered it as a permanent injury in the way Tony obviously had. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Clint had snickered when Tony's rant included the phrase "incredibly advanced pacemaker I designed in a cave." By the time all of that was over, they had all felt the movie should be something familiar and comforting, which explains why Pepper Potts had, later that evening, walked in on the entire Avengers team watching  _White Christmas_  even though it was late August.

Even though the team's only about three months old, movie night already has a long and interesting history. "First pick defaults to Tony" is still the standing rule, even after Clint brought up his partial hearing loss from a disaster of a recon mission four years ago. That was when Tony explained how deep into his chest the arc reactor casing went. No one really wanted to argue with him after that.

Clint turns his attention back to the detainees, who in contrast to earlier in the day, are now bandaged, clean, and wearing intact clothing. They're now bickering among themselves about who exactly counts as "most injured."

Seiei is lying on the couch, eyes nearly drooping closed every few minutes, while Saji sits on the floor, back against the lower part of the couch. Stratos is perched on one of the arms. Haptism is sharing the sectional with Bruce, as they've apparently bonded wordlessly over their alternate personalities and statuses as failed super-soldiers. And, of course, since Bruce is there, Tony's in the armchair next to him. Erde's in another armchair, peering at the tablet in his hands through a replacement set of glasses loaned to him by S.H.I.E.L.D. Nat's on the floor, as usual, and Clint's right beside her, with Cap in the armchair behind them, no doubt once again wondering if he ought to offer his seat to one or both of them. Joke's on him, of course, because Nat and Clint sit on the floor because they want to. If Nat wanted a seat, she could take Tony's before he even realized he'd been moved.

"Haptism, you were unconscious, pick a movie already," Seiei says flatly.

"Erde told me that you were out up until these guys showed up," Haptism counters. "And you passed out again five minutes later."

"You would have done the same if you were unenhanced," Erde points out, not looking up from the tablet Stark is allowing him to use to communicate with JARVIS. The two of them have been gossiping for roughly a half-hour now, and Clint's starting to wonder if he should be worried.

"Do you guys adjust for physical enhancements?" Saji asks, glancing toward Cap.

Cap shrugs. "Not really. The point is to cheer up whoever's feeling the most miserable—so emotional trauma counts, if you want to get into that sort of thing."

"Seiei wins," Haptism says. "As much as I wanted to believe in Schenberg's plan, I'd been preparing myself for something else to go wrong."

"I wasn't expecting it," Seiei says, closing his eyes for a moment. "And…I guess it got to me. I thought we were done fighting, at least for a little while."

"You should've known better," Stratos says flippantly.

"Shut up," Seiei and Saji say at once.

"Oh, come on—" Stratos protests.

"It's not the time," Saji says firmly. "So, Se—Seiei, what should we watch?"

Seiei points at one of the DVDs sitting in front of the television. Clint had gotten them out back when he still thought he had a shot at picking out the movie.

"What's that one?" he asks.

"Uh,  _Transformers_?" Tony asks. "It's about alien robots that can turn into cars and stuff coming to Earth so they can protect it from evil alien robots that can also turn into cars. It's based off a line of kid's toys, but it's actually pretty cool."

"Alien robots?" Seiei asks, sounding genuinely intrigued. He didn't strike Clint as the type to get all geeky over robots—Erde, maybe, but not him—but appearances can be deceiving. "What are the pilots like?"

"There aren't pilots," Tony explains quickly. "The robots are alive; they pilot themselves."

Seiei—yes, the guy who gave Fury  _the look_  and lived to tell the tale—lights up like a freakin' Christmas tree. What the heck?

Erde snickers. "None of us will mind if you want to watch it," he says teasingly.

"It really does sound like Seiei's kind of movie, doesn't it?" Allelujah remarks.

"I would like to watch it," Seiei says, a bit stiffly. His voice barely goes up in pitch or volume, but his eyes are practically shining with excitement. Apparently, he really is the type to get all geeky over robots. Huh.

"You might want to know that there are some pretty realistic gunfights and a lot of explosions," Tony says quickly. "Y'know, if that's a concern for anyone."

Tony's ability to empathize—and deal with other humans in general, for that matter—has come miles and miles since Bruce and Cap first launched "Operation: Get Tony To Counseling." Sure, they only managed to get him to go about two weeks back, but he has at least figured out that, yes, he does have PTSD. Which, well, kinda drives Clint up a wall. Honestly, he has how many PhDs and he can't figure out that a traumatic period of capture and torture followed by a string of near-death experiences might have screwed with his head a little? Either he's a master of denial or an idiot.

"Well, Seiei's the one who picked it out…" Erde says, sounding unsure.

"I'll be fine," Seiei says. "I want to watch it."

"The rest of us should be okay," Stratos says.

And that's how they end up watching what Clint still considers to be the ultimate example of why no one should  _ever_  give Michael Bay money. Surprisingly, Seiei really does get into it. After Optimus Prime shows up, his eyes take on that vaguely hero-worship-y gleam that most five-year-olds automatically acquire upon seeing Cap.

Even more surprisingly, he really isn't the only one who enjoys the movie. It takes the others longer, but by the second fight scene, all of their prisoners-slash-houseguests are shouting tactical advice at the screen. Erde's critiques of some of the Decepticon's movements are scathing enough that Clint finds himself flinching in sympathy. Not even evil robots deserve that level of contempt. Saji is probably the least vocal, though he does get in a good shout of "Don't run into the middle of a gunfight!" at one of the minor characters, which, for some reason, causes Haptism to break down laughing. There has to be a story there.

Nobody gets to hear it, though, because not five seconds later, a loud "Shh!" from Erde silences Tony's commentary on Megan Fox's current outfit, and alerts everyone else to the fact that Seiei is fast asleep.

"He'll miss the ending," Haptism says, concerned.

Erde brushes off his concern with a shake of his head. "Seiei's sleeping somewhere he isn't familiar with. Don't even think about waking him up."

Saji nods his agreement, and Haptism wilts slightly. The rest of the movie is only slightly muffled by whispered commentary. When it's over, Tony cuts off the credits by turning off the television, and then glances at the others.

"It's probably about time for dinner," he says quietly. "Want to wake him up?"

"Can we save him something, and let him sleep for now?" Saji asks.

"Don't see why not," Tony replies in a cheery whisper. "The kitchen's on this floor, too. Let's go."

They file out. Saji, Tony and Bruce are the only ones whose footsteps are audible.  _It's kind of funny how easy it is to pick out the civilians,_  Clint thinks.

Tony is at least considerate enough to save the question, "So who's cooking?" until they get to the kitchen, because that argument is consistently loud enough to wake up even the most soundly-sleeping extra-dimensional visitors.

Basically, everyone but Tony likes to cook, but all of their tastes are wildly different, and most of them don't really share a kitchen well. Clint can cook with Nat, of course—but the two of them have been partners on enough missions that they can do nearly anything together. But neither of them can work with anyone else in the kitchen—Nat gets impatient with the other person and tries to take over, while Clint usually forgets they're there and doesn't pay attention to where he's throwing things. Hey, he learned to cook in a circus, what do people expect? Nat's repertoire is straight off of the Food Network—the result of a deep cover mission when she had to pretend to be an upper middle-class woman who constantly hosted parties. Clint, meanwhile, specializes in fast and greasy food, especially the kind you can eat with one hand while on surveillance missions.

Bruce has to cook alone, because while bumping into him while he's concentrating won't turn him into the Hulk, it will force him to have to concentrate  _hard_  on not doing so, and about two or three rounds of that is all it takes to ensure that the scientist will fall asleep after dinner and not wake up until sometime the next morning. Also, he apparently kept a love of spicy food as a souvenir of his time in India, and Cap, who hadn't even heard of half of the spices Bruce prefers before he went into the ice, often can't finish his portions.

Cap learned to cook when he was, like, five, and during the Great Depression, so he eyeballs every measurement and makes ridiculous substitutions because he forgets that he has money now and nothing's being rationed anymore. This sometimes means that his cooking tastes a little weird, even if his dishes are mostly generic things that everyone on the team has heard of and can at least tolerate.

And, every once in a while, everyone else gets frustrated with the fact that Tony never cooks and tends to sneak off when it's time for dishes to be done, and they all force him into cooking. On those nights, they have pancakes and smoothies, which are still Tony's primary method of taking in nutrients.

On this particular night, Clint, Nat and Cap are the ones insisting on cooking. Bruce bowed out quickly, on the grounds that he should be monitoring patients—particularly the still-pallid Haptism—rather than making food. Clint is arguing for greasy comfort foods, Cap is arguing that something simple would be best since they don't know what these guys are used to eating, and Nat is arguing that an elaborate spread would make them feel more welcome. She'd never admit it, but Clint can tell she likes these guys.

Finally, Saji breaks in. "I could cook," he offers. "I can only make Japanese and Spanish food, but I am the person who cooks at home, so…"

"He's good," Haptism confirms. "He's been teaching me."

"You don't know how to cook?" Cap asks, as if the very idea is foreign. It shouldn't be, not when most men of his generation didn't know how, either, but Clint has gotten the sense over these last few months that Cap was a little out of place long before he was out of his time.

Haptism shrugs, says, "Never learned," and offers no more explanation.

Clint is really starting to wonder whether Haptism has more in common with Bruce or Nat. He's got that same vague sense of, "I'm only guessing at how this works, because no one ever taught me," that tends to show up in those agents who weren't ever really children. And your average guy who can't cook will either make a joke about his own incompetence or dismiss it as a useless skill. A two-word answer means he's avoiding explaining exactly why—and that means either there wasn't anyone to teach him, or no one who was raising him saw a reason to do so. That second reason usually emerged from the kind of logic that included the phrases "human weapon" and "won't last long enough"…in other words, the kind of stuff that made Clint mad as heck ever since he realized people had said it about Nat at some point.

He returns his attention to the conversation as Cap tentatively offers to cook with Saji, if the younger man wouldn't mind. Saji grins in response. "I would like that."

The two of them head out to the kitchen, leaving the rest to wait in one of the many clusters of furniture scattered across the guest floor. Erde is the last to sit down, and before doing so, he offers the tablet back to Tony.

"Thank you," he says. "I enjoyed exchanging information with JARVIS. He thinks very highly of you."

Clint is pretty sure that there's an unsaid "so I trust you now," hanging off the end of that statement. Tony seems to think so, too, because he gives Erde one of his genuine smiles—for better or worse, Clint can now tell the difference between those and the ones he only gives news cameras and people he's been told not to offend. He doesn't take the tablet, though, and since Cap isn't here to explain, Bruce quickly intervenes.

"Tony doesn't like to be handed things," he says. "It's not personal or anything…"

Erde looks slightly puzzled, but doesn't question it. Instead, he puts the device down on the couch next to Tony, and then sits down on the sectional Haptism is currently occupying.

There are people from another dimension on the sectional, calmly listening to explanations of a genius millionaire's neuroses, courtesy of a military experiment gone wrong. Meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best spy is talking shop about high-calibre bullets with one of their extradimensional friends, while another is probably dreaming about being Optimus Prime in TV room. Oh, and there's the fifth, Clint can hear him in the kitchen, trying to tell  _Captain America_  that he should use angel-hair pasta, not spaghetti, for a dish like this.

How on earth is this Clint's life?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

If the extradimensional travelers stay a while, Bruce is willing to pick up indefinite dish duty in exchange for a few more of Saji and Steve's collaborative meals. This looks  _delicious_. Saji quietly introduces the main dish as fideuà-a variant of paella with noodles instead of rice-and the corn casserole is clearly Steve's work, meant to serve as a sweet balance to the savory spice of the main dish. The rest of the sides are simpler but look equally delicious.

The conversation is tentative at first—no one is quite sure what constitutes polite dinner conversation for the other group, Bruce thinks. But eventually, he decides, someone has to initiate actual conversation. And…he has a few questions he's been wanting to air, anyhow.

"I've been wondering this for a while: is Allelujah a nickname of yours or something?" he ventures, picking at his noodles to avoid seeming too intent on the answer.

Haptism blinks, surprised, then glances at Erde, who sighs and then inclines his head.

"Actually, it's my name," Haptism says, looking a bit self-conscious.

"Really?" Clint asks. Haptism nods.

Clint sits back, no doubt thanking heaven that he isn't named that, and says, "Wow."

"That's got to be one of the most bizarre names I've ever heard," Tony remarks.

Haptism—Allelujah—flushes.

"Come on, you've gotta admit it's pretty out there," Tony prods. "I mean, who names a kid Allelujah?"

"My girlfriend gave me that name, and I like it," Haptism says defensively.

An awkward silence falls, until Tony breaks it.

"Uh, what?" he asks. "Did you change your name as an adult or something? And what was it before, that  _Allelujah_  was better?"

Allelujah's eyes narrow, and for a second Bruce is worried that the man's "other guy" is going to make an appearance, but instead, he growls out what sounds like, "Yeefithtesevin."

It takes Bruce a moment to separate out the syllables, and by the time he has, Natasha is already speaking.

"E-Fifty-seven," she repeats. "They didn't bother naming you, then." It's not a question. She's letting her understanding of this subject show in her eyes. From her files, Bruce knows that much of that knowledge was gained firsthand.

"They didn't," Allelujah says flatly.

Steve's gasp is audible, and Allelujah turns towards him. "What?" he asked. "Are you so surprised? Since when do  _good people_  create super-soldiers?"

Bruce braces himself as Steve's eyes narrow.

"Dr. Erskine was a good man!" he says hotly.

Allelujah looks confused.

"Dr. Erskine was the person who created the only successful super-soldier in this reality," Bruce clarifies.

"And this super-soldier of his is fighting for what's right, not just following orders and being used as a weapon?" Allelujah asks incredulously.

"I am," Steve says firmly.

Allelujah stares at him. "That's—what? You're  _way_  too normal, there's no way you could be—"

Bruce has a thought. "Allelujah, what are you thinking about when you say 'super-soldier'?" he asks.

Allelujah pauses to think before answering. "Uh, someone who was trained from childhood, physically enhanced, and had their personality altered to better suit a soldier—"

"What?" Tony and Steve ask at once.

"So, wait, you were  _meant_ to have the freaky other personality?" Clint asks.

Allelujah shakes his head. "No, I was meant to have an obedient, loyal, somewhat violent personality in place of the one I originally had. Instead, I ended up retaining both my original one and the botched attempt at altering it."

He pauses under the weight of all the shocked expressions being directed at him and asks, "That's not what super-soldiers are here?"

"N-no!" Steve half-stammers, half-shouts. "Dr. Erskine used some chemicals to enhance my physical abilities. He didn't do anything else. He wouldn't have! And—and I was an adult! I gave consent to the procedure—I signed  _forms_ , for heaven's sake!"

Allelujah blinks for a few seconds before managing, "I guess I spoke too soon. This Dr., uh, whatever his name was, must have been a good man."

"He was," Steve said firmly, still looking rather upset. Bruce isn't feeling so calm himself.

Tony's next question doesn't help matters, either.

"You mentioned an institute," he said slowly. "You thought Bruce was from there. Is that where…"

Allelujah seems to be in the process of folding in on himself. "Yes."

"There were more, then," Clint says, his tone bleak.

Erde winces while Allelujah's shoulders rise to be of a level with his ears. Stratos's frown tightens. Saji reacts the least, worrying his lower lip as he glances at his comrade.

"There used to be," he says, eyes shut in what could be grief, shame or both.

Bruce catches Tieria's eyes, and sees in them a nonverbal plea of "Do not ask." He is immediately reminded of the look Natasha gave the intern last week who asked Clint "How come no one around here seems to like you?" and dislikes the implication that Allelujah has regrets on par with Clint's regarding his time under Loki's control. In response, Bruce nods, and shoots a quelling look at Tony only seconds too late.

"What happened?" Tony asks before Bruce can stop him.

"Hallelujah," Allelujah says softly, before quietly getting up and leaving the table.

"Tony!" Bruce scolds.

Tony held up his hands. "I thought he might want to talk about it!" he says.

Erde just sighs, and says. "For context, 'Hallelujah' is Allelujah's way of referring to his alternate personality.'"

Bruce is fairly sure that the visitors have broken Steve, judging by the look of slack-jawed horror on his face. He isn't the only one, either—Clint looks nauseated and even Natasha looks uncomfortable. More oddly, Saji and Stratos look surprised, as if this is news to them.

Bruce himself keeps his expression impassive with some effort. Seeing his own regrets mirrored in someone else hurt in ways that he couldn't really explore around other, unarmored people. And then, he thinks about the fact that Allelujah didn't bring his 'other guy' upon himself—didn't even give consent for his creation, much less participate in it—and revulsion replaces the sympathetic horror he'd felt at first.

Tony, meanwhile, swallows hard. "I should probably go apologize once he's calmed down, huh?" he says weakly.

Erde nods stiffly. "That would be best."

Saji seems to be struggling with this revelation. Unfortunately, he's lapsed back into Japanese to do it. " _Sono koto…sono koto wo shitta. Areruya ga ungotta mobiru suuto wa sono buryokukainyuu wo shita koto ga shitta kedo—kedo—mo ikai, nanimo wakaranakatta."_

"It's not really something we talk about a lot," Erde says gently. "I'm not even sure if Seiei or Lo—the first Lockon knew the full truth about that intervention. The only reason I knew was because I already had unrestricted access to Veda back then."

_Intervention? The first Lockon? What does any of that that even mean?_ Bruce wonders, even as Tony asks, "Veda?"

"Our supercomputer," Erde said, with all the emotional remove of Tony saying "The Iron Man suit"—which is to say, none at all.

Stratos, who had previously been staring at the seat vacated by Allelujah in silent contemplation suddenly turns toward Erde, his expression caught between surprise and concern.

Erde apparently knows what he is about to say, because he waves it off quickly. "I'm fine, really."

"Is  _that_  why your accuracy rate dropped fifty percent from the last time you were Cheridium?" Stratos asks.

Bruce really has no idea what's going on, but Stratos seems to think it's very important.

Erde sighs. "Yes, there was a bit of an…adjustment period," he admits carefully.

"An adjustment period?" Stratos demands. "Why didn't you tell someone? Your reflexes were off—you could've  _died_!"

Erde shrugs. "I could hardly let you four go out and fight all alone," he said, grinning a bit tightly.

"You weren't," Saji said, seeming to have finally gathered himself. "You would've been in contact—"

"You needed my unit, not just me," Erde said firmly. "And I couldn't pilot like that."

"…like what?" Tony asked.

"You really do not know when to stop asking questions, do you?" Erde asks sharply.

Tony offers him a half-grin. "It's not like you  _have_  to answer."

Erde's smile is thin, but existent. "My situation was…unique, up until a bit before those Chitauri arrived. It's not really something I can easily explain."

Tony nods.

"You're a heck of a leader, Mr. Erde," Steve says, seemingly out of the blue. But by the expression on his face, Bruce can tell he's been considering this for a while.

Erde, on the other hand, is completely blindsided. "I-I'm not—"

Saji interrupts him. "Seiei's the one in charge when we're fighting, but you're the one who's been keeping us all together."

Erde blinks at him for a few more seconds, then smiles a bit shyly. "That is what I've been trying to do, I suppose. It just…still seems odd to me."

"Why?" Stratos asks. "It's what you've always done, isn't it?"

Erde stares at him, almost confused, then, suddenly, his expression turns utterly blank. "No," he says, almost coldly. "It isn't."

Stratos sighs, resigned. "Lemme guess," he said. " _He_  did it before."

Tieria nods once, sharply, and says nothing. His expression is shuttered, but there's a hint of sadness in his posture.

It's not only destructive other personalities and rocky group dynamics that their two teams have in common, Bruce realizes. Both of them have a gaping hole where another person should be. Ruefully, he wonders who their Coulson was.

Stratos looks intensely uncomfortable. "I…uh, well…he'd probably be happy," he stammers. "You're doin' a good job, uh, with the kid and everything."

"Seiei's twenty-two," Tieria says flatly.

"You knew I meant him when I said, 'The kid,'" Stratos counters.

"Point," Erde allows, smiling just a bit. "Though I'd briefly entertained the notion that you might mean Saji."

"Hey!" Saji protests.

Both Erde and Stratos turn to look at him.

Stratos smirks. "Yeah, you've got a point. But he's at least grown-up-sized."

Saji flushes.

"If Seiei'd had access to better nutrition as a child, he'd likely be taller than Saji," Tieria points out, apparently having decided to join Stratos's teasing of Saji. "The median height for people from Krugis is significantly higher than that for people living in the J.A.P. Economic Zone, or that of people of Japanese descent."

"I'm taller than you!" Saji protests.

"I am the exact height necessary to fulfill my role," Tieria replies, grinning. "It just so happens that the height required is rather short. It's irrelevant to the topic at hand."

Clint grins right back, and foreboding pools in Bruce's stomach. He last saw that smile a week ago, mere moments before Tony walked out of the elevator covered in purple Jello and demanding to know who had been the last person in his lab.

"Actually, Stratos's the only one of you that's really 'grown-up-sized'," Clint says, grinning.

"Why, thank you," Stratos says, beaming, as Saji turns red and Erde sputters incoherently.

"I'm pretty tall for someone from my family!" Saji exclaims shrilly.

"Not 'grown-up-sized,' really?" Erde asks, regarding Clint contemptuously.

"So that  _was_  all that happened during your growth spurt?" Clint prods.

Erde suddenly smirks, and Bruce becomes certain that Clint has bitten off more than he can chew. "Are you looking for someone to commiserate with?" he asks.

"Okay, seriously, I'm not that short," Clint says, but while his tone is somewhat grumpy, his grin is wide.

Bruce allows himself a grin of his own, at seeing the heavy atmosphere that had fallen disperse, and at seeing Tony slip out of the room, no doubt with the goal of apologizing to Allellujah. Tony's still not very good with people, but he's trying. Bruce can't help but appreciate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD and discussions thereof, mentions of medical procedures/injury, past character death, discussion of some pretty awful backstory (Gundam fans: Allelujah's, specifically), spoilers through season 2 for Gundam. Less importantly, while Coulson is alive in this continuity, as he is in canon, the Avengers do not know about it at this point. Finally, this includes lots of my own headcanons, and bits and pieces cribbed from the comics as I saw fit.
> 
> I felt that giving Clint partial hearing loss would be a good balance of the lovely comics continuity in which Hawkeye is deaf and the fact that the character in the films doesn't read as deaf at all.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> _"Sono koto…sono koto wo shitta. Areruya ga ungotta mobiru suuto wa sono buryokukainyuu wo shita koto ga shitta kedo—kedo—mo ikai, nanimo wakaranakatta"_ : "That...I knew that. I knew that the mobile suit Allelujah operates did that armed intervention--but--once again, I didn't understand anything."
> 
> If you are just here for Avengers and have no idea what that means--that's fine. If it were important to the plot, someone would've translated it in-text.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavens, but this took me a while. I had most of it written, but I kept being dissatisfied with the ending…to be honest, I’m still a bit dissatisfied, but I’ve accepted that if I write anything else in this universe it’s not likely to be anytime soon and it’s likely to be oneshots. Plus, I wanted to get this finished before Civil War drops. So, as I prepare to embark on a long WIP for another fandom and get together some oneshots for Gundam 00 Week on Tumblr (May 1-7, on a tumblr named [g00week](http://g00week.tumblr.com/), being run by [flag-fighter](http://flag-fighter.tumblr.com/)), I figured I’d tie up the loose ends of this WIP.
> 
> Warnings for Age of Ultron spoilers and discussion of brainwashing, though keep in mind this is all still pre-CA:TWS.

Tony is gratified when his hunch turns out to be right—Allelujah is seated on the edge of a chair in the TV room.  He’s much less gratified to find the man halfway to the fetal position, his head cradled in his hands as he breathes in and out in a studied pattern that Tony thinks he remembers from back when Pepper was really into yoga.  Seiei, awake and sitting up ramrod-straight on the couch, looks on in concern.

Tony tries to think of a delicate way to apologize, he really does, but he can’t come up with anything, and before he knows it, his mouth is open and the words, “F***, I’m sorry,” have come out.

Allelujah and Seiei both startle and turn toward him.

Allelujah’s skin is grey-tinged with pallor, and his eyes are still not-quite-focused, but he manages a gentle smile.  “You didn’t realize.”

“You should’ve,” Seiei says bluntly.  “And you shouldn’t have come in here unannounced.   If Allelujah hadn’t been in control…”

“Well, I was,” Allelujah says briskly.  “It’s fine.”

Pepper says things like that too.  But they aren’t always true.  She may forgive him, but that’s not the same as her being ‘fine.’  It’s just that she doesn’t mind that he’s hurt her.

A lot of people have hurt Haptism.  Tony’s not going to be the next.

“No, it’s really not,” Tony says.  “I should have known not to push you.  I screwed up.”

Seiei looks ready to say something else, but Allelujah holds up a hand. 

“I appreciate your apology,” he says.  “You don’t seem the type to offer them often.”

Tony shakes his head, grinning.  “Not really.”

Allelujah shoots Seiei a look as if to say, “See?”, then smiles at Tony.  “Like I said, thanks.  I hope things didn’t get too awkward after I left…”

“The subject changed,” Tony says. “Something about Tieira trying to pilot something while he wasn’t up to it…”

Seiei’s eyes widen, and Allelujah groans.  “I can’t believe we didn’t even _think_ about that,” he says, slumping further forward.

“There was a lot going on,” Seiei says, almost gently.

“He told Stratos he was fine,” Tony says quickly.  “Stratos still seemed pretty concerned…but Steve kinda derailed the conversation and then suddenly it turned into a bunch of jokes about peoples’ heights.”

Allelujah manages a small smile, while Seiei frowns.

“Yes, he was making fun of you, but also Saji, so you don’t have to get too mad,” Tony says quickly.

Allelujah’s color is a bit better now.  “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“Just be glad you weren’t short enough to end up a target,” Tony joked.  “It was a free-for-all in there.  I had to leave before they realized how puny I am next to Spangles.”

“Spangles?” Seiei ventures, looking less annoyed.

“Uh, the captain…er, Steve,” Tony says.  “It’s a nickname.”

“…it has to do with the U.S. national anthem or something, right?” Allelujah said.

Tony nods.  “Yeah, it’s called ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’” he says.  “And since Steve’s ‘Captain America’…”

“Is it an insult?” Allelujah asks, rather bluntly for him.

“…No,” Tony says, a bit thrown.

“Marie says that national anthem sounds like a really awful drinking song,” Allelujah says, looking a bit sheepish. “I thought maybe—“

“It kinda is a drinking song, but one with really nice lyrics,” Tony says, a bit offended on behalf of his country—even if he disagrees with it politically most of the time nowadays.  “The guy wrote ‘em during a battle to a song he’d heard—yeah, in a bar—the previous night.”

Allelujah nods.  “That explains it. I’ll have to tell Marie.”

“Why are you Iron Man?” Seiei asks suddenly.

“Wow, with the personal questions,” Tony says automatically.  _I think I need alcohol for that story._

“No--not your reasons, I mean, why that name?” Seiei corrects quickly.

“Oh,” Tony says, feeling silly as he remembers that only Saji actually saw the suit.   “Uh, I have a suit.  Sorta like…a robot, but I’m inside of it.  It flies and shoots energy beams…it’s pretty cool, actually.”

Seiei and Haptism look, of all things, _amused_ at his explanation.

“What?” he asks, a bit irritably.

“You have, uh, fighter jets, now, right?” Allelujah asks.  “Like, mass-produced military ones?”

It’s a non-sequitor, but Tony rolls with it.  “Yeah.”

“In our time, or dimension, or whatever?” Allelujah says.  “We have mobile suits.”

“Giant robots,” Seiei clarifies, helpfully.  “Lke Transformers, but piloted.  And most of them can’t turn into other things.”

Allelujah smirks.  Tony knows that smirk.  It is that same smirk that Rhodey’s jet-pilot friend gets on her face whenever anyone brings up the model of her plane.

“You’re a pilot!” Tony accuses.  “You’re a pilot and you have a Transformer-mobile-suit!”

Allelujah’s smirk softens but does not vanish.  “I am and I do,” he says mildly.  “Setsuna’s has a bigger beam cannon, though.”

“So…you’re all pilots?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” Setsuna says, nodding.  “It’s why the Chitauri captured us instead of killing us.  They wanted us to pilot their crafts for them.”

“We weren’t interested,” Allelujah said flatly, before Tony can ask.  “I think they were planning to come back and, ah, _ask_ again after they took your version of Earth…but you never gave them the chance.”

“JARVIS said they attacked here before, and you threw a nuclear bomb at them,” Seiei says.

Tony takes a deep breath, and tries not to have a flashback.  It almost doesn’t work, but then Seiei continues in a voice that’s just a bit louder than necessary and jars Tony out of his thoughts.

The knowing look on Allelujah’s face says that Seiei did it on purpose.

“I think it ticked them off, enough to make you their only target,” Seiei says.  “So when they attacked our Earth, they only kept up their assault until they realized you weren’t coming.”

“Then they grabbed us so it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, and left for the right version of Earth?” Allelujah guesses.

“That seems likely,” Seiei says.

“Why just take you, though?” Tony asks.  “I mean, there have to be other pilots…”

“Not on our level,” Seiei says, in the matter-of-fact tone of Thor explaining that he could not be killed by most weapons he’s seen on Earth.

“Any one of us can take on and defeat roughly fifty to seventy mobile suits, without rest and within a twenty-four hour period, before our performance starts suffering due to exhaustion,” Allelujah explains.  “Except maybe Saji.  He’s had less training.  But he makes up for it in determination.”

“And a normal pilot’s limit…” Tony prompts.

“How would we know about that?” Allelujah asks, still looking a bit smug. 

Seiei shrugs.  “A lot lower.”

“So, what, you’re robot-piloting superheroes?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.

Seiei snorts dismissively and says, “Not even close,” while the haunted look returns to Allelujah’s eyes. 

Wincing at his own poor choice of words, Tony tries to think of a way to change the subject, but Seiei does it for him.

“Being a superhero isn’t the only way to bring about peace,” Seiei says.

“Bring about peace?” Tony echoes.  He recalled that these people were members of some sort of peacekeeping force, so it made sense for them to think that way, but that had never been _his_ goal…he’d just been looking to fix his own screw-ups and maybe get a little revenge in the bargain.

Seiei nods.  “Jarvis told me. You used to sell weapons, but you experienced for yourself what they did, and so you decided to remove your weapons from the battlefield with your own hands.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it,” Tony says.

“Then, you’ve also become Gundam,” Seiei says, smiling slightly.

Tony glances at Allelujah.  “Gundam?”

“Technically, Gundam is just the name for the kind of mobile suit used by our group,” Allelujah says. “But for Seiei, it’s come to mean someone or something that is an embodiment of the eradication of war.” 

 _Eradication of war?_ Tony repeats mentally.  _Exactly what kind of stuff did these guys do while trying to “keep the peace”?_

Allelujah must’ve read his expression, because he says, “You’d probably consider our methods extreme.  You might object to them.  And—it’s not like I don’t regret things.  Not just— _that_ —” The wince tells Tony he’s referring to the incident that Tony had brought up at dinner, “but also other actions we took.  But only because what we did was able to be manipulated by someone else with evil intentions.  Not because I ever stopped believing in what we were trying to do.”

“In the end, we did achieve peace, at least until the Chitauri arrived,” Setsuna said quietly.  “It would have been nice if we could’ve done it with less bloodshed, but—there’s _always_ bloodshed.  Even if I really want to believe in what Marina says.”

“What we did, we did so there can be a world where more people can grow up to be Marina, and less can grow up to be you or me,” Allelujah says, standing.  “We couldn’t afford that kind of naivety…but maybe the people who come after us will be able to.”

This has gotten _very_ depressing all of a sudden.  Or, maybe not all of a sudden.  It was kind of depressing all the way through, what with it being a conversation centered around Tony apologizing for bringing up Allelujah’s alternate personality’s murder record.

So, it’s a relief when Allelujah says, “Let’s go back out to the kitchen.  Setsuna should eat.”

Setsuna frowns at him, but gets up to follow anyway.

Before Tony can follow, JARVIS speaks from the ceiling.  “Sir, would you mind staying here for a moment?”

“Of course,” Tony says, waiting until the younger men leave to continue speaking.  “Is there a reason why you want to talk in private?”  He thinks for a second.  “I can’t think of any embarrassing video that could’ve leaked lately, but maybe I’m forgetting something…”

“That is not what this is about,” JARVIS says, and Tony is the _best ever_ at programming, because his AI is clearly amused.  “I merely wished to inform you that, after some consideration, I have reconsidered the offer you made a few weeks ago.”

Tony has to think for a few seconds.  “You mean, the suit for you?  You want one now?”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS says.

It’s cool that JARVIS changed his mind, but the timing is…weird.  “The Erde guy didn’t do anything, right?”

JARVIS is silent.

Rage builds almost instantly.  “If he hacked you I swear to—”

“I was not hacked, sir, and I am slightly insulted on both your behalf and my own that you even believe that _possible_.”

“Then what?” Tony asks, mildly exasperated.  “Don’t tell me he just said something!”

“That is, in fact, what happened,” JARVIS says.

“What?” Tony asks.  “What did he say?”

“I wish to respect his privacy,” JARVIS says crisply.

“What about your creator?” Tony wheedles.

“I seldom wish to respect you,” JARVIS says flatly.

“Oh, come on!” Tony whines.  “You are my most wonderful, sarcastic creation, and—”

He recalls the earlier conversation, the way Erde talked about the supercomputer like it was his baby, how he’d said “I couldn’t pilot like that,” and “there was a bit of an adjustment period.”

“Is Erde human?” he asks.  “Not sentient, I know he’s sentient, but is he human?”

JARVIS _sighs_.  “No, sir, not precisely.”

“Is he an AI?” Tony asks, somewhat excited, because, if he is, holy crap, Erde’s more empathetic than some of the _humans_ in the Tower right now.  JARVIS is amazing, but he needs the butler-politeness framework to fall back on sometimes, even if he’s mostly outgrown it; Erde doesn’t seem to have those limits any more than a slightly eccentric human might.

“No,” JARVIS says.  “I cross-referenced the term he used with all available databases and determined that it does not exist in this dimension and time.  From what I gathered, however, it refers to what is basically a highly genetically engineered human.”

Well, that’s disappointing.  Oh, well.  He’s still got JARVIS, who’s pretty awesome himself.  Tony gives him a few more years before he’s independent enough that Tony can start devising new AI tests based on him.  It’s gonna be _great_.

“He does, however, have the ability to directly interface with certain types of computers,” JARVIS says.  “I would thank you not to share this information with Fury—Erde is deeply wary of him.”

“Like I tell Fury anything I don’t _have_ to,” Tony says.  “So he can talk to computers with his mind?  Cool.”  He thinks for a second.  “So, how long did he spend _being_ a computer?”

“Sir, I don’t know what—”

“JARVIS, I promise not to say anything to him, or to Fury, I just want confirmation,” Tony says.

“Roughly two years,” JARVIS says.  “As he put it, an enemy was foolish enough to shoot him while they were inside of the building which housed Veda--the supercomputer he mentioned at dinner.”

“So he uploaded himself,” Tony says.  “And this is the future, so they got him a new body eventually, I guess.  That explains the hair, too—though not the glasses.”

“Actually, sir, I am given to understand that this is his original appearance,” JARVIS says, sounding a bit amused.

“And he didn’t take the opportunity for a makeover?” Tony asks, incredulous.  “Clearly, not as smart as I’d thought.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Seiei and Haptism come back to the table after nearly everyone else has wandered off, leaving Clint to do the dishes.  He’s not really that upset, though—in the Tower, “doing the dishes” is really more like rinsing a couple of really messy plates and then putting the rest in a high-powered dishwasher that definitely costs more than most places Clint has lived in the past.

Nat’s still at the table, though, and she’s watching as the two of them get the food left behind for them and start to eat.  Seiei tears through his portion at a frankly alarming speed, and Clint’s hindbrain starts doing double-handsprings because apparently something about that is significant—but Clint’s conscious mind is too busy with Nat’s body language.  She’s pulling in on herself, slightly, shoulders hunching and head ducking down.  Clint can only see part of her profile but he’d bet her knees are inching up toward her chest, too.  Nat’s acting like a kid—and not the way she acts for targets, the elaborate show with huge eyes and limbs splayed everywhere so that she can spring up and attack at a moment’s notice—but like a young Natasha, coiled up into a tiny ball to make a smaller target.  She doesn’t do this on purpose.  She does it, unconsciously, when she’s thinking about _being_ a young Natasha.

Allelujah gets up to get another glass of soda, and Nat’s gaze follows him.  Clint adds up her childhood with his background and comes out with _Oh screw me_.

 _Oh screw me_ is often the answer to Clint’s mental math.

With a murmur of “Thank you,” Seiei leaves the room, and then, finally, Nat speaks up.

“The place I was raised in was like your Institute,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

Allelujah can’t manage such nonchalance.  He drops his fork and stares.  “Wha—then you…” he trails off.

“It was called the Red Room,” Nat says.  “The operatives were called Black Widows.  We were raised to be assassins from…from very young childhood.  I’m not sure how young.  I don’t remember.”

Allelujah’s expression is gentle.  “Did they do something to your memories?”

Nat nods.  “They were altered,” she says, voice almost shy.  “They made me think I’d graduated from a ballet school.”

“So scum like that exists here, too,” Allelujah says, voice dangerously flat. He takes a deep breath, then asks, “But, why were your teammates so surprised by me, if you—”

“Clint’s the only one who knows,” Nat says.

“Why?” Allelujah asks, cautiously curious.

Nat shrinks in on herself further—it’s disturbing to see her like this, wearing so few of her masks.  “They have preconceptions about me that I’d like to see them hold on to.  It’s information that isn’t relevant to the Avengers Initiative or to our personal relationships; there’s no reason for me to share it with them.”

Allelujah makes a small noise of disapproval.

“You disagree?” Nat asks, an edge on her tone.

“You know, that used to be our official policy, at Celestial Being,” Allelujah says.  “The past was irrelevant to our mission, and a distraction.  So we had an official ban on discussing past personal lives with other Celestial Being members.  It worked for a while, give or take a few awkward situations.  And then we had some issues with these crackpot siblings saying they were affiliated with us, hacking our systems, and committing war crimes using our name.”

“How is this relevant?” Nat asks.

“They hacked our personnel files, and got away cleanly from a battle they would have lost by distracting our side with what they’d found,” Allelujah said.  “It turns out that one person we had on scene had basically sworn revenge on a certain group for killing his family.  Another of the people on scene was a former member of that group.  The two of them eventually sorted things out without killing one another, but it took a while, and the siblings were gone by the time they’d settled their differences.”

“So, you’re saying that I should tell everyone in case someone has a death grudge against the Red Room?” Nat asks, a hint of humor to her tone.  “Because, you know, that’s incredibly likely.”

“More that…ignorance is the enemy,” Allelujah replies.  “If those two had worked things out sooner, a lot of other things might have turned out differently.   We’ll never know.  Keeping them in the dark on purpose…isn’t that something you’re supposed to do to your enemies, not your allies?”

Nat relaxes slightly, and lets out a soft sigh. “Maybe. But…right now, they think of me as frightening and competent. I like that.  But I know it’s because they know nothing about what had to be done to make me this way.” 

By this time, Clint’s finished the last of Seiei’s dishes and is just leaning against the counter, watching as she wraps her arms around her midsection in a movement that’s all too familiar to him. _She can deny it all she wants, but I’m sure they did something to her, to make her think that they warped her when they took her ability to have kids.  They already screwed with her memories; what’s one more piece of interference?_   He shuddered reflexively at the thought.

“I just don’t want them to think of me as pitiful, or as a…” Clint’s hearing aids, advanced as they are, aren’t up to catching that last word—but he’s heard Natasha talk about this before, so he’s pretty sure what he missed. Allelujah’s reaction is right in line with his guess.

“A _monster_?” Allelujah practically yelps.  “Because you were trained as an assassin?”

“They trained me to kill, and then they sterilized me,” Nat says, in the same unsettling, detached tone she used to explain it to Clint.

“What’s done to you doesn’t make you a monster,” Allelujah says, slow and certain, holding her gaze.  “It’s what you do that determines it.”

“Then…what about Dr. Banner’s ‘Other Guy’?” Nat counters.  “Or your Hallelujah, for that matter.  They’re both monsters, and they were created to be that way.”

“‘Monster’ seems like a specific term, but it really depends on who’s using it, doesn’t it?” Allelujah says.  “People define it a lot of ways, but if there’s one meaning that everyone agrees on, I don’t know about it.  Is the monster Hallelujah, for pushing me to kill all the other super-soldiers, or me, for going into situations that gave him a chance to?  Is the monster Bruce’s Other Guy, or whoever’s threatening a middle-aged scientist enough to bring him out?  Is the monster you, for making it out of the Red Room, or the Red Room for trying to make you a certain way?”

“Perhaps we’re all monsters,” Nat says softly.

“Or maybe we’re all human, and we all mess up,” Allelujah responds.  “And when we use the word ‘monster,’ it’s just more rhetoric.”

He paused, seeming to search for words, then added, “If they enhanced you, you might be a little bit more than human now.  Even if they didn’t, I know from talking to someone unenhanced who was trained as a kid that you still don’t really feel like a regular human sometimes.  Either way it’s none of my business.  But…not being a regular human doesn’t make you a monster.  The only thing that makes you…anything, really, is your choices.”

“And if I made a lot of bad choices?” Nat asks, challenge in her tone.

“Then you either decide you don’t regret them or decide that you do, and go look for forgiveness,” Allelujah says. “At least, that’s my philosophy.”

“Which one are you doing?” Clint asks, intrigued.

“A little of both,” Allelujah says.

“And how’s that working out?” Clint asks.

Allelujah’s grin is crooked.  “It’s a work in progress.”

Clint grins back.  Allelujah’s sheepish honesty is admirable.

“So, uh, I have no idea how to initiate this conversation, but this is probably one of few chances I will have to discuss growing up in the Institute with someone who gets it, other than Marie,” Allelujah says.  “And if Clint’s the only one you’ve told about this Red Room…”

Unexpectedly, Nat grins, even if it’s dark at the edges.  “Let’s break out the imaginary photo albums.”

“Because the Lord knows there were photos, but not ones we’ll ever get to see,” Allelujah responds, with a dark, sharp edge to his tone that answers Nat’s smile. 

Nat takes a few moments to shoo Clint out of the room in curt ASL.  Clint is almost inclined to pretend he missed it, since this could be interesting and also yield useful intel, until he hears Allelujah lead off.

“Was yours more training or medical procedures?” he asks, genuinely curious.  “The SSI did a lot of medical testing and physical enhancement when we were younger, so I have more experience with that than with training.”

Clint suddenly becomes aware of the fact that Nat and Allelujah’s lives give them nightmares and would likely do the same for him, and makes good his escape before he hears Nat’s answer.

As he steps into the elevator to return to his floor, he asks Jarvis, “Are you listening in, since the guy from the other dimension’s involved?”

“Sir has asked me to exercise my judgement in allowing these people some degree of privacy,” JARVIS replies.  “While I am monitoring biometrics and conducting my normal scan for a set list of words Sir associates with security threats, I am not currently eavesdropping on or recording the conversation between Agent Romanov and our guest.”

“That’s probably good for your sanity,” Clint says.

“Sir has intimated that, being his creation, it is unlikely that I have any,” JARVIS replies.

Clint is pretty sure that’s a joke but the delivery is snarled up and Clint’s too tired to unravel it, so he just waves, one-handed, as he leaves the elevator and decides that now would be a great time for some truly abysmal reality TV.

He wakes up the next morning to JARVIS announcing that a “craft capable of spaceflight” has landed on the roof of the Tower.  And it’s not even 7 a.m. yet.  Great.

He’s dressed in his uniform in about three minutes—for a spy, that’s pretty much a job skill—and grabs his bow and quiver from under the bed, before making for the roof like it’ll be the Apocalypse if he doesn’t get there ASAP.

Until he’s sure that’s not a possible outcome, better safe than sorry. It’d better not be the Chitauri again.

When he makes it to the rooftop, Cap’s already there, Nat at his side.  Tony shows up in the suit soon after; Clint’s assuming Bruce is waiting inside, by the door, in case things go south.

The craft that’s landed on the roof is battered, scratched and scorched, but still lethally sleek in its design, in a way that definitely reminds Clint more of the Klingons’ ships from _Star Trek_ than anything else.  The almost cheerful color scheme, of white and powder blue with a few dark red accents nearly belies the sharpness of nearly every surface on the craft and the fact that those two protrusions _have_ to be some kind of gun.

“You want to be the first aliens to actually come in peace?” Tony shouts at the spaceship.  “Because so far, this planet’s track record with visitors _sucks_.”

“We’re not aliens,” says a voice, female, cultured, and touched with a Middle Eastern accent, projected through an external speaker.  “We’re from a dimension parallel to yours.  We’re attempting to find some people from our dimension who were taken by actual aliens, and one of our people was able to track them to this dimension and then to this city.  Since this building was high enough for a craft like ours to land on, we decided to take advantage of it.  We’d hoped perhaps it was an office building and our presence wouldn’t be so immediately noticed.”

“You’d hoped, you mean,” another voice cuts in, softly.  “I did warn you.”

“This isn’t the time,” a third says. 

… _another dimension_ , Clint wonders.  _Could we really be that lucky?_

“We were able to free a few prisoners from the custody of the Chitauri, an alien race that’s attacked here before,” Cap says. 

“Do any of you know an Allelujah?” Tony ventures.

The answer is pretty clear when the response comes in the form of one sob of relief, one soft “Thank God,” and one half-choked, “Yes.”

“We’re coming out,” the first voice declares, and the door of the craft hisses open.

The woman who strides out first is tall, dark-haired, and obviously in charge of _something_ , politically, because she walks like she knows that people are counting on her, but also like she knows people will listen to what she says.  Her eyes are dark blue, and more like Pepper’s than Hill’s, which is not what Clint would expect in a politician.  She’s dressed in a blue-and-purple uniform that is, frankly, ridiculous—unless Clint is hallucinating the puffed sleeves and the odd partial skirt-like garment belted over the jacket—but she’s graceful and self-possessed enough that Clint would feel bad about laughing in her face.

Then again, next the next woman to get out, who has apparently decided that her color-code is bubblegum-pink, she looks downright normal.  Her hair is cropped mercilessly short, but it’s dyed the exact same eye-burning fuchsia as her uniform jacket—which, other than the color, seems to match those worn by Erde and the others.  Intact, it’s actually pretty impressive, especially next to the black-haired woman’s monstrosity.  Despite all the pink, though, there’s a weight to her blue eyes.

The last woman to emerge is petite and subtly muscular, with incredibly pale skin and braided hair that’s such a light shade of platinum blonde that it might as well be considered white.  She’s wearing some sort of light armor made of reinforced white armor plates mounted on a skintight suit, and her posture just _screams_ miltary.

She’s the first to speak.  “Where is Allelujah?”  It’s not a question so much as an order for someone to give her information.

“He’s inside, ma’am,” Steve says.  “It’s early in the morning, and we were hardly going to bring him out with us if you turned out to be hostile—”

“Are the others—how many others did you find?” the pink-haired woman asks.

“Four others,” Steve says, and Clint sees the tension leak out of her shoulders.

“And you are?” Tony prompts.

The black-haired woman takes the lead.  “My name is Marina Ismail, Princess Royal of Azadistan,” she begins.

 _Royalty_ , Clint thinks, unenthusiastic, with a glance toward an equally, if more subtly, dismayed Nat.

Marina gestures to the pink-haired woman.  “This is Feldt Grace, tactical operator of Celestial Being.” She turns toward the other woman, whose expression and posture have changed completely.  She looks almost civilian, for heaven’s sake.

 “Marie Parfacy,” she says. She hesitates, then adds, “Former ace pilot for the HRL under the name Soma Peries.”

She’s not _quite_ telling the truth, Clint can _tell_ , but now’s not the time for an interrogation.  Besides, the clues Allelujah’s dropped along the way fit into a picture of a woman who knows more about Allelujah’s past than anyone who wasn’t involved in it would.  Tony’s made enough mistakes for all of them in that area, thank you.

Tony does their introductions, matching formality for formality—Clint’s not sure _best archer on the planet_ is deserved, but he’s sure not arguing—and generally making good use of his background in interacting with the rich and famous for once.

“Will you take us to them?” Marina asks, a sense of urgency in her voice. 

Steve apparently sees something in her eyes that he respects, because he doesn’t even hesitate before he nods.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bruce is waiting by the door when the five guests gather on the top floor.

“Jarvis said there was a spacecraft,” Erde says, at Bruce’s curious look.  “I asked him to describe it, and recognized it as the 00 Raiser.”

Bruce doesn’t bother hiding his surprise.  “One of yours?”

Seiei’s smile is fond.  “Yeah.  When we thought _we_ needed to figure out how to get back, we forgot about everyone back in our world. We should’ve known they’d figure it out first.”

“I bet it was Feldt,” Allelujah says, with an air of surety.

“If Ms. Sumeragi managed to drag Billy Katagiri into this somehow, it could’ve been him, too,” Stratos points out.

“Or Mr. and Mrs. Vashti,” Saji says.

Seiei looks very nervous, suddenly.  “What if it was all of them?”

Stratos looks a bit spooked, too.  “By the time we’re back, they’ll have GN Drives down to the size of toasters.”

Confused, Bruce asks, “How big are they now?”

“About the size of a small house,” Allelujah says.

Bruce just hopes that they didn’t all come along.  Tony’s dangerous enough with just him, and Jane Foster’s occasional visits.  With Tony added into their mix, those GN Drives—whatever they are—would probably end up small enough to put on watches.

“I don’t think you can actually miniaturize a GN Drive to that extent…” Erde starts, when Tony leads the rest of the team and a few unfamiliar women through the roof access door.

Allelujah lights up.  “Marie!”

“Allelujah!  Thank God!” the woman, a platinum blonde in tight-fitting armor, exclaims in return.  She immediately runs to hug him, then draws back in concern when he winces at her embrace.

“What happened?” she asks, worried.

“Those things that captured us weren’t so nice,” Stratos says, delicately.  “Allelujah caught some of the worst of it.  A doctor looked at him, though.”

Bruce decides this is _not_ the time to remind the room at large that he isn’t really a medical doctor.

“Good,” the woman says firmly.

“I’m fine, really,” Allelujah says.

“You’d say that no matter what,” Marie replies fondly.

Bruce is suddenly vaguely sick at the knowledge that she would probably know, since this is likely the girlfriend who _named_ him, and, to have done that, she must know something of his past.

But…they seem happy, now.  And isn’t that really the best outcome he could hope for, for someone whose life has been like Allelujah’s has?

Meanwhile, Stratos waves lazily from the couch at the newcomers.  “Took you guys long enough,” he says.  “What was the holdup, Feldt?”

Feldt, a woman with pink-dyed hair and a matching uniform, gives him a smile that’s somewhere between fond and exasperated.  “We had to decide whether we wanted you five back,” she says.

“That was a joke, right?” Saji asks, a little anxiously.

“Of course it was a joke, she’s too nice to leave us in another dimension no matter how many of her problems we cause,” Stratos says, grinning.

Feldt sighs.

There’s another sigh, but this one is soft and pleased.  “I’m glad you’re safe,” the third of the strangers, a tall, dark-haired woman, says.

“Marina Ismail,” Seiei says, staring at her, as he stands.

“Yes, I’m here too,” Marina says, seeming slightly amused.

“Why do you always say her full name?” Saji asks.

Tieria and Stratos lean forward in interest.  Seiei shrugs.

Marina turns toward Tony and bows shallowly.  “Thank you so much for taking care of them,” she says. She turns back to Seiei.  “Setsuna, how badly are you injured?”

 _So, Setsuna’s his real name_ , Bruce thinks, even as Tony asks, “Who’s Setsuna?”

Marina looks confused.  “He is,” she says.

“We were using codenames, Princess,” Erde says, rubbing his temples.

“Setsuna… _is_ his codename,” Marina says, a bit slowly.

“His first name isn’t much use as a codename anymore, not when he uses it constantly,” Erde replies levelly.  “We were going by the last names of our code names.”

“You mean the ones you and Haptism have listed as your legal names now?” Feldt asks.

“Saji doesn’t even have a codename,” Marie points out.

“Saji told them his real name already and…look, I’m not a tactical forecaster, all right!” Erde snaps.

“And that’s a good thing,” Feldt says, deadpan.

“So, I guess we’ll have to let Fury know that you’ve got a way home,” Clint says.  “I mean, I’m assuming it wasn’t one-way.”

“Of course not!” Marie says, sounding a bit offended.  “We don’t just go around dragging world leaders to another dimension without a way to get them back to their countries.” More quietly, she adds, “We don’t drag them around to other dimensions at _all_ , by choice, but she’s _stubborn_ …”

Marina beams at her.

Bruce now understands why Tony still looks a bit off-balance.

“In all seriousness, though, who is this ‘Fury’?” she asks.

“Why do you assume that’s a name?” Clint counters, apparently unintimidated by her status.  “Last person I mentioned him to offhand thought he was the time system my employer used to log hours.”

Marina spreads her hands and shrugs.  “I suppose I’ve gotten used to Setsuna’s friends having odd names.”

 “Fury is the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.; it’s a government agency that deals with supernatural, extraterrestrial and otherwise bizarre,” Natasha says, addressing Marina.  “He’ll want to meet you.”

Marina looks intrigued.  “I think I’ll want to meet him, as well. Perhaps we could work out an arrangement.  My…dimension was woefully underprepared for hostile aliens; I believe that we would be willing enter negotiations in exchange for strategic advice.”

“And what could you offer us?” Clint asks, folding his arms.

Tony snickers, a knowing look in his eyes, and Seiei—Setsuna glares at him.

“ _Not_ that,” he says. “Those will be obsolete in a generation if we have our way.”

Tony startles, minutely, then nods in almost grave understanding. Bruce studies the defensiveness in Setsuna’s answering scowl and becomes nearly certain that Setsuna is as much out of the weapons business as Tony is.

Tieria glances at the two of them, a look of understanding in his eyes, then turns to Clint.  “We’re ahead of you, technologically. We might be willing to trade certain items for information or items that our dimension never had reason to develop.”

“That would involve comparing our timelines,” Tony observes, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes.  Marina glances toward Setsuna, alarmed.

“He’s like a mixture of Ian and Billy Katagiri, but worse,” Saji explains quickly, looking amused at the whole exchange.  “He’s not exactly _harmless_ , but he’s not really a threat to us, either.”

“He’s an overzealous scientist,” Marie says, with an odd note of humor to her tone.  “What could one overzealous scientist _possibly_ do?”

“He’s an overzealous, war-hating scientist who specializes in advanced robotics,” Allelujah corrects, smirking a bit.

The people from the other dimension are now all staring at Tony. Setsuna, in particular, is suddenly wide-eyed, while Saji seems mildly alarmed.  An odd sort of tension has built in the room, and Bruce isn’t the only one who’s noticed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony asks.

“Well, if our history teaches us anything, it means you’re going to change the world,” Marina says, in a brisk, if slightly faint, tone.

“Are you going to explain that?” Tony asks.

“I don’t think we should,” Saji says slowly.

“No, really, what?” Tony demands.  “What are you referencing?  Am I being mocked?  Come on!”

“Let’s set up that meeting with your Director Fury,” Marina says, all business.

“Come on!”

“I’ll call him,” Natasha says, ignoring Tony as well.

“Do you know anyone named Schenberg?” Saji asks Tony, very quietly.

“Saji!” Tieria barks.  “Don’t interfere with the timeline.”

Bruce is as lost as the rest of them, but he’s also twice as anxious.  Whatever this is, he has a feeling that Tony is not going to let it go until the visitors tell him.

Or, well, until one of them loses enough patience to inflict bodily harm.  If they’re all lucky, that _might_ work.

 _Wasn’t Schenberg the one who had a plan to talk with aliens?_ he wonders, as Natasha and Marina launch into conversation.  _What on Earth would that have to do with Tony, anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, but there are two people who are easily paralleled with Tony Stark in the Gundam 00 Universe, and this crossover occurs at a point when Tony is staying away from bad coping mechanisms enough for people to catch the Aeolia Schenberg parallels easier than the Ms. Sumeragi ones.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic and I apologize for the badly delayed last chapter.


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